The Fat and the Thin eBook

CHAPTER V

At about four o’clock on the afternoon of the
following day Lisa betook herself to Saint Eustache.
For the short walk across the square she had arrayed
herself very seriously in a black silk gown and thick
woollen shawl. The handsome Norman, who, from
her stall in the fish market, watched her till she
vanished into the church porch, was quite amazed.

“Hallo! So the fat thing’s gone in
for priests now, has she?” she exclaimed, with
a sneer. “Well, a little holy water may
do her good!”

She was mistaken in her surmises, however, for Lisa
was not a devotee. She did not observe the ordinances
of the Church, but said that she did her best to lead
an honest life, and that this was all that was necessary.
At the same time, however, she disliked to hear religion
spoken ill of, and often silenced Gavard, who delighted
in scandalous stories of priests and their doings.
Talk of that sort seemed to her altogether improper.
Everyone, in her opinion, should be allowed to believe
as they pleased, and every scruple should be respected.
Besides, the majority of the clergy were most estimable
men. She knew Abbe Roustan, of Saint Eustache—­a
distinguished priest, a man of shrewd sense, and one,
she thought, whose friendship might be safely relied
upon. And she would wind up by explaining that
religion was absolutely necessary for the people;
she looked upon it as a sort of police force that
helped to maintain order, and without which no government
would be possible. When Gavard went too far on
this subject and asserted that the priests ought to
be turned into the streets and have their shops shut
up, Lisa, shrugged her shoulders and replied:
“A great deal of good that would do! Why,
before a month was over the people would be murdering
one another in the streets, and you would be compelled
to invent another God. That was just what happened
in ’93. You know very well that I’m
not given to mixing with the priests, but for all
that I say that they are necessary, as we couldn’t
do without them.”

And so when Lisa happened to enter a church she always
manifested the utmost decorum. She had bought
a handsome missal, which she never opened, for use
when she was invited to a funeral or a wedding.
She knelt and rose at the proper times, and made a
point of conducting herself with all propriety.
She assumed, indeed, what she considered a sort of
official demeanour, such as all well-to-do folks, tradespeople,
and house-owners ought to observe with regard to religion.

As she entered Saint Eustache that afternoon she let
the double doors, covered with green baize, faded
and worn by the frequent touch of pious hands, close
gently behind her. Then she dipped her fingers
in the holy water and crossed herself in the correct
fashion. And afterwards, with hushed footsteps,
she made her way to the chapel of Saint Agnes, where
two kneeling women with their faces buried in their
hands were waiting, whilst the blue skirts of a third
protruded from the confessional. Lisa seemed
rather put out by the sight of these women, and, addressing
a verger who happened to pass along, wearing a black
skullcap and dragging his feet over the slabs, she
inquired: “Is this Monsieur l’Abbe
Roustan’s day for hearing confessions?”